Apart
by Ms.MaraJade
Summary: Ichabod's thoughts during "The Sin Eater" as he sits before Katrina's grave.


_Author Notes_: This one-shot is dedicated to the man in my life, who has been separated from me due to circumstances beyond our control. I was inspired by the episodes of Sleepy Hollow's "John Doe" and "The Sin Eater" to write this as a dedication to our relationship and how we continue to wait for the time when we can be together again.

_Disclaimer_: I own nothing, and I make no money. I only write about what I enjoy.

_Summary_: Ichabod's thoughts during "The Sin Eater" as he sits before Katrina's grave.

Apart

The afternoon had been rather pleasant, having learned a new past-time in the form of a sport the Leftenant had referred to as "baseball." It was a simple kind of game – hit a ball and run around the shape of a tilted square that resembled a diamond – but the game was also laden with plenty of intricate rules and protocols. It seemed overly crowded on the field, but strangely each of those "fielding positions" as Ms. Mills explained it played their part. Baseball also seemed a rather quiet kind of game – crowd interaction and reaction notwithstanding.

Having nearly finished his quiet walk towards his destination, Ichabod considered the bonding that he and Ms. Mills shared over this game of baseball. She had taken her seat beside him and had spoken so plainly and matter-of–factly, that he dared to consider her no less than his compatriots back in his time. He could see the two of them sitting in the town tavern and downing ale while swapping stories like farmers about feisty horses refusing to bridle to their plows or speaking as soldiers who had taken an unexpected victory over the British forces.

However, now that his walk was finished, Ichabod settled into his place before the false grave of his beloved wife. The pleasant afternoon that his colleague had offered him faded into the distance while his thoughts took him to a place he needed to be. For some reason, Ichabod had determined that this fictitious headstone as the only place he had in this modern world where he could be close to Katrina. He wasn't sure if it was simply because her name was engraved, and reading it gave him a sense of her presence or because her falsified grave gave him somewhere to go to be alone with his thoughts of her, much like any person in mourning did when they visited the gravesite of their loved ones. What was unique in Ichabod's circumstance, though, was that this counterfeit grave was not to mark Katrina's death, but to remind him that she was remaining patient for him in a place that he could not simply visit, despite how much he wished to do so.

In many ways, Ichabod grieved Katrina's absence, perhaps more so after having spent those short moments in Purgatory with her where he had been able to touch her once again. And, as he reflected on that moment, he felt the heartache start anew. While he had unknowingly been locked in an incantation for over two hundred years, he experienced nothing. He had no recollection of those many years that he laid beneath the dirt. There had been no sounds to hear, no scents to smell, no way for him to open his eyes to see the darkness before him, and his touch had been deadened, leaving him with no memory of how the dirt would have changed temperatures with the seasons. Even his emotions had been numbed while in that enchanted slumber as there was no memory of feeling loss, loneliness, heartbreak, sadness, or any other feeling that should have and would have struck a man who would eventually realize that everyone he had known in his old life was long gone.

Ichabod stared at the façade of a headstone, his heart heaving with the knowledge that the people he once considered friends, family, and neighbors had their bodies churned to dust by age, and their lives had become bare flickers, most of whom were forgotten simply because so many were unassuming citizens and people who would hold no place in history books. They were names not meant for remembrance, and only the most dedicated family historians would be bold enough to hunt down the paths to who those unknown people were and learn about the quiet lives they once lived.

If not for his awakening, Ichabod was certain that he, too, would have been an unknown man, lost in history because anything he had done of significance was under the most confidential orders. He would not have been remembered, and he doubted anyone would have sought his grave to mourn him. He was no one who had become "famous," like the men referred to as the Founding Fathers. Ichabod simply was lost in a world that was so far removed from his time that he was but a walking ghost of who his people once were.

The blacksmiths, the butchers, the cordwainers, the farmers, the merchants, the wives, the husbands, the fathers, the mothers, the children, and so many others of his time showed only the faintest similarities in the people he passed by daily. But, the simplicity of his time had been long erased. This modern age was complicated and tangled in marvelous conveniences, incomprehensible devices, and a pace of existence that offered no reprieve to absorb the joys of the simple things in life. These "modern" people will never know or understand what a dark sky truly held beyond the horizon, as their world was so scattered with artificial light. They will never know how bright and clear the sun had once been and how the earth held more animals and plants than any man could ever dream of catching and eating. Their modern carriages and factories had changed the horizon from the colors he once remembered, the vibrancy of the sky no longer unfiltered and sharp. Yet, at some point in the last couple weeks, Ichabod had accepted that the daily tasks of his former life and the way the people of his time had spent their days was so far removed from this society that to expect them to go backwards in their evolutions and revolutions was absurd.

However, Ichabod also genuinely pitied the modern society as he watched them walk with their heads downward, their attention drawn on small, colorful bricks of sorcery like nothing he had ever seen. Even with all the demons he had encountered, the people in this time were possessed by small equipment that held information larger than the universe itself. Sadly, the people in this modern society also had lost the ability to communicate to each other in passing. In his time, a simple nod of the head or the tip of a hat was a welcome greeting based on common courtesy, and it was something every gentleman and lady had done without question. Undoubtedly, such a gesture appeared small and insignificant, but the generous meaning behind it was far greater, and such protocols never should have faded from society.

Ichabod began to wonder if everything that he and the Founding Fathers had fought for was no longer important to these new generations. In over two hundred years, society had developed an attitude that they no longer appreciated what their ancestors before them had done. Instead, the modern person wanted more of everything, but he or she was reluctant to put in the effort to attain that want through appropriate responsibility.

And, maybe that was one of the reasons why Ichabod needed to sit before Katrina's fictitious grave. He could so easily slip into the arrogance of this modern time, as the convenience it offered could tempt even the most dedicated man into passing obligation onto someone else. While Ichabod was not the kind of man to shun his unique responsibility, he could certainly understand the temptation of ignoring the duties of a Witness in lieu of frolicking without care or accountability. But, if he did that, then the Apocalypse would undoubtedly arrive, and this indulgent society would surely be left to its demise. Somehow, Ichabod still believed there was a chance that these modern times could still yield dedicated and responsible people, should they be given the adequate chance to step forth.

Feeling a heavy sigh escape his lips, Ichabod traced Katrina's name with his eyes, carefully outlining each letter slowly and carefully. She was the only one left from his old life, and she was still alive. She was a kindred spirit who he was certain would understand how he was a soul out of place in a time where everything that was simple had been erased. He had no doubt that she would help him make sense of the forgotten manners and offer him an embrace where he could grieve for all the people of his time that he would never see again.

Aware now that he no longer mourned for his beloved Katrina as a man who was a widower and had lost the other half of who he was, Ichabod instead grieved her distance and her absence as he had on every mission under General Washington. In those times when he followed his secret orders and he was separated from Katrina he had felt an aching hole in his heart, a pain that tempted him more than once to write her letters and tell her how much he missed her touch and her smile. However, he knew that while on those missions if he penned a note of his heart's desires to her, he could never carry it himself or give it to a messenger. Doing so risked discovery to their relationship, and it would have put her into danger that she did not deserve. In those days of the war, he needed to keep his emotional connection to her away from prying eyes, and if a letter in his handwriting to her had been confiscated, he would have surely compromised Katrina's safety.

Taking another calming breath, Ichabod came to realize that Katrina's safety had been sorely compromised for years, regardless of the protective precautions he had undertaken. There was nothing he could have done to prevent her imprisonment in Purgatory, and she had been there for probably as many years as he had laid in his dead-like enchantment. He, at least, had no recollection of the time during his absence, but for her to be trapped for hundreds of years without comfort or companionship wounded him terribly.

He then recalled their short time together recently when he was on the verge of genuine death. If not for contracting that virus, he might not have ever learned of Katrina's lonely existence, and he would have assumed that she was as perished as the rest of the people from his time. However, for those fleeting moments he shared with her, he would not deny how he had finally felt complete and alive – truly alive – again.

Her skin had been so warm and smooth, as he had always remembered; her touch was soft and tender, and her eyes glowed with that inner strength that he had admired. Looking upon her once more had reignited such passion that he could not help but cling to her and waste their precious moments in a heartfelt kiss. He had longed for her warmth and her body against his once again, and while her hand gently clutched to him, her touch gave him that familiar confusion of madness and excitement he had always felt while in her presence.

Part of him wanted to die in that moment, so that he could stay with her and keep her from being lonely any longer. He could feel in her embrace that she had missed him with the same aching desire, and how she had the strength to insist that he return to his duties he would never understand. All he knew was that he needed to free Katrina from her prison and share his life with her. He had vowed that he would not leave her to Purgatory, and he had spent every waking moment since then trying to piece together whatever thoughts he could devise in order to find a way to free her. Sadly, he continued to be unsuccessful in his plight, but he had decided that he would not cease in his pursuit.

Something sharp suddenly stabbed into his neck, waking him from his ruminations. Ichabod moved his hand instinctively to the pain, and as he tried to stand, his body gave out beneath him. As the darkness clouded his vision, Ichabod had a surge of hope that maybe he was going to see Katrina again and that maybe this time he would be able to take her out of Purgatory with him. Giving into that tiring haze, Ichabod reached out with his soul, his heart calling for Katrina and waited in black silence for her to reply.


End file.
